Invisible
by Besina
Summary: He'd been her Head of House for years, but no one really knew her; she was just like that. No dialogue for a reason.


Invisible  
>Written by Besina, February 2012<p>

Rated: T  
>Characters: Severus Snape, OC<br>Pairings: None  
>Story Type: Friendship, hurtcomfort  
>Warnings: Abuse, mentions of self-harm<p>

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><p>He hadn't noticed her much: she'd been a student in his house, but unremarkable; not ugly per se, but plain, certainly. Academically, she worked hard, but was pretty much average in every way, neither near the top nor the bottom of any of her classes.<p>

He researched the background of anyone placed under his care, so when she was first sorted into Slytherin, he had noted that she had certainly had a rather unpleasant home life: bickering, neglectful parents. It reminded him of his own youth, and he felt for her a bit.

Rather bookish, she didn't really stand out at all: it was easy sometimes to completely forget about her. And many people, including himself on occasion, did just that. She didn't seem to mind though, having to clear her throat every so often just to be noticed. What she did seem to mind was people noticing her whom she'd really rather not.

The second time he'd actually really taken any note of her was sometime in her fourth year, when spying a group of popular fifth-years pestering her for fun on the way into Hogsmeade. They seemed to take great delight in troubling her, getting in her way, casting mildly obnoxious jinxes on her.

His mind briefly flew back to his time at Hogwarts and the hell James and his cronies had inflicted on him, but this surely wasn't as bad as all that. She'd toughen up over time; learn to defend herself.

Most of the rest of that year flitted by without any more thought given to her. It was just before spring break, during his potions class that he caught sight of a momentary flash of skin beneath the arm of her robes as she moved to pick up some new ingredients. It was covered in fresh cuts, gouges and boils. His head snapped back and brow wrinkled while he briefly wondered what in the world she'd been up to, but she moved quickly to turn her back to him and let her robes drape over her arms once more.

Whatever she'd been doing, she could cure herself, or have Poppy take a look at it. If she was in need of any help, she would come to him. Wouldn't she?

She was one of a very few that stayed over the break. So quiet and unobtrusive that if he hadn't had her continued residence here listed in his notes, he wouldn't have realized she'd remained.

He'd flipped through his papers, documenting the who and whys for those who'd stayed behind.

He'd stayed behind as well when he was a student. Every chance he got. Hogwarts during break was a haven from his parents as well as from his bullies. A slight nagging feeling was growing in his head, and it worried him.

He'd finally found her in the restricted section of the library, quietly flipping through forbidden tomes and ravenously digesting any information they offered. Apparently the librarian took as little notice of her as everyone else did.

He settled in next to her, not saying anything , just making mental notes of the tomes she had stacked before her, and which ones she was most focused on. She'd been aware of him, but didn't seem to mind his presence, nor did she let it dissuade her from her books. Perhaps she'd thought she'd vanish from his thoughts in a few moments' time, just as she did with everybody. She seemed quite at home here, and he wondered just how many hours she'd spent over the years engrossed in this illicit knowledge.

He gently placed a hand on her arm; she turned and looked at him blankly. He slowly pushed up her sleeve, noting the slowly healing welts and bruises, the cuts and other wounds scattered over her forearm. He gently raised her other sleeve to discern more there. She blinked at him, but showed no emotion.

He had things to ask, but words weren't going to get him the answers he needed. Gently hooking the knuckle of his index finger beneath her chin, he turned her face more toward his and gazed into her eyes. She put up no resistance; he looked into her mind.

At first he saw nothing, and a chill ran down his spine. He saw nothing, not because she was blocking him in any way, but simply because at first, there was nothing there; it was a dark and deserted wasteland.

He forced his face to remain impassive and continued looking; then the pain came flooding in. No physical pain, not really, but emotional torment – torrents of it washing over him. He felt a wave of nausea hit him.

He pressed on. Now undefined images of her tormentors flitted by, sometimes the same, sometimes different, all much worse than he'd imagined. Every bit of it done stealthily; but with her, even berating, teasing and ridiculing her publicly could go without discovery. Years of it flitted by. Vague impressions here, more hurtful ones there, but nearly too many to count.

He choked down the lump that was forming in his throat as he realized every opportunity he'd missed to do something about it. If only he'd had someone to look out for him. Why hadn't he done that for her? Was she really so invisible?

He took a deep breath. He still had questions. She still held his gaze expressionlessly, let him probe; she didn't move – she didn't seem to care. He looked further: a gradual comfort surrounded him; a comfort in darkness, in the dark arts, in secret knowledge. Her head was full of it; she gathered it to her like a pillow, hugged tight. It was her solace, her escape. He wondered if she could possibly know as much of it as he did. He knew that feeling of losing yourself in it, loving it because it made you something more than you were, gave you power over powerlessness…

He cleared his throat momentarily and blinked before going on. His thoughts were beginning to weigh heavily. His mind pushed in a little further. Now he felt her hatred rise up; burning, searing hate. It felt as though he were on fire; skin sloughing off as it consumed him. Images of things she wanted to inflict upon those who'd done this to her, who'd made her hurt, who'd humiliated her, who'd made her suffer for no reason other than some joke between them. Horrific things flew past his mind, everything swathed in anger, fear, resentment, rage. Things she probably knew how to do, more she could probably create…

They resolved themselves into clearer images of her in the bathroom and sharp, fierce feelings of physical pain; inflicting those wounds upon herself to vent her anger, release some of the pressure that was building up in her, threatening to explode and destroy everyone she despised. Doing it so she didn't hurt them. Hot tears of frustration running down her cheeks.

He felt them on his too, as he realized they'd never know what she'd done for them, and they didn't deserve it. At all. He tried for a moment to draw their faces into focus, but there he found resistance. She was protecting them even now. From his wrath too.

In one moment, he decided. He opened his mind, his youth, to her like he'd never done with anyone. He wanted her to understand exactly how much he understood her, her pain, how similar they had been; that there was hope still. That she could rely on him now. She wasn't alone. He felt her thoughts flutter briefly over his, pausing here and there, her head tilting to the side as she examined one memory or another.

Finally, she stopped, took his hand and looked at him, actually looking at his eyes rather than past them. He raised her sleeves again and gracefully passed his wand over them time and again, softly muttering a healing incantation until the lacerations, welts and bruises gradually faded.

He kept hold of her hand, slowly stood up, raising her up with him.

Wordlessly, they made their way outside the library, to the area outside the front doors of the great hall. He sank down onto one of the stone benches. She sat next to him. He pulled his cloak around her and she leaned into his side. He was her Head of House. He'd never think her ordinary, and he'd never fail her again. They watched companionably as the sun sank below the horizon.

She was safe.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

Thanks for reading! I can be found on Tumblr as BesinaAo3

Please do not repost or distribute this work on any other site.  
>For translation permissions, please see my AO3 profile - username Besina<p> 


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